


The Tidal Wave

by Kaiserkorresponds



Series: Obsessive Compulsive Archivist [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dead Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Gen, Hurt Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Introspection, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has Chronic Pain, Lonely Avatar Martin Blackwood, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, The Buried Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), The Magnus Archives Season 3, The Vast Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29014326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiserkorresponds/pseuds/Kaiserkorresponds
Summary: Each drop formed an all encompassing tidal wave fit to drown.One that Jon couldn't, wouldn't admit was a feeble defense at remaining sane. As if scraping his skin raw, and pretending like he was luxuriating instead of marinating in the boiling water, was going to fix the issues.--A second installment in my OCD Jon series !! (Still works as a stand alone!)
Series: Obsessive Compulsive Archivist [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128494
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	The Tidal Wave

It was a routine.

No, a pattern. 

No. It was simply a habit. 

It was a regime. 

In all truth, without deceiving himself, it was an obsession. An all encompassing blaze of panic that he couldn't put out.

And, if he went a step beyond admittance, and to the stark truth, Jon knew it was a compulsion. 

The pretty facades, the excuses of cleanliness, of a routine, and the pitiful claims that it was a new pattern of self care, were all hiding the grueling truth that he was not in control. 

And that he never had been. 

Amidst the hot spray of the shower, Jon reached into the knots of his hair and scrubbed, as if the vigorous scratching of shampoo into his scalp would shake the thoughts out of his head. 

The thoughts of excusable synonyms, but also the thoughts that drove the obsession itself. The ones that pounded down on him in a harsher patter than the shower ever could. 

Each drop was a separate panic. 

A scalding hot trickle down his shoulder blade was his ever present fear of the vast, that dizzy failure of gravity, and the lengths he would still go to in order to keep himself below sea level. 

The drips that fell off his fingertips were near replicas of the dirt that had showered the floor as he stepped out of The Buried. The bits of soil he could never seem to scrub away from under his nail beds, no matter how long he scraped them. 

Against his cheekbone, were the meandering droplets that squirmed across the scars left by a similar squirming heat. One that he still dreamt of, where the worms poured from within the walls, devouring and infested, and corrupted the innards of his body. 

He'd bought the strongest antibacterial soaps imaginable after that particular day, and yet he'd never felt truly clean since. 

The feeling of taintedness, in truth, burned more than the nerve damage most days. 

Even the pooling of suds at his feet twisted into cursed figments of his imagination. The wisps of cigarette smoke that never seemed to calm his nerves anymore. The swirling, perplexing mist that surrounded Martin's fading form. The bits of acrid sulfur from the explosion at the museum that had taken his best friend. 

Each drop forming an all encompassing tidal wave fit to drown. 

One that Jon couldn't, wouldn't admit was a feeble defense at remaining sane. As if scraping his skin raw, and pretending like he was luxuriating instead of marinating in the boiling water, was going to fix the issues. 

As if whispering the word obsession, or its darker cousin compulsion, would solve anything beyond an admittance of his own failings. 

It was a routine. 

The frothy suds, and the faint burned blotches over his skin, meant nothing. 

And neither did the agonizing ordeal of scrubbing away each drop, as if he could scrub the stains of the past away. 

Or the fact that he couldn't stop.

**Author's Note:**

> Plz feel free to drop a kudos or comment if you enjoyed !! <3


End file.
